


An Offer Made

by zinjadu



Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher, Supernatural
Genre: Brothers, Family, Gen, faith - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 16:15:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinjadu/pseuds/zinjadu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Small Favor of Dresden Files, before Season 4 of Supernatural there's an offer on the table for Dean.  Will he take it?  Written a while ago, rehosting here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Offer Made

"You will go to Chicago," Castiel told him, looking up with those inscrutible eyes. It was worse in some ways than talking to a demon. Demons he could hate and deal with and kill. He had nothing on Castiel, while the angel had everything on him. When Dean said nothing, he continued. "There is a man there, injured, who will have a tool for your fight. His time in our ranks are over." 

"You mean you let people out just sidelined, not dead?" Dean challenged, but there was little ire in his voice. He was too damn scared to really bring a good anger to bear. But Dean got the picture: angels used you up just like demons did, only difference was that you were hoping you were one of the white hats instead of a horrible monster. 

"His enternal reward is known, but his heart has always been set upon an earthly one," Castiel allowed, and there was something like respect in his voice. Whoever this guy was, he must be impressive. 

"Fine, alright. We'll go see him," Dean agreed with a shrug. "Just one thing." Castiel turned around as he was about to leave. "What's his name?" 

"Michael. Michael Carpenter." Then the angel was gone, leaving Dean standing alone. Oh boy, Sammy was not going to like this. But a tool was a tool, and they need all the help they could get, right? 

Damn it. 

++++++++++++++++++++ 

Whatever Dean had been expecting, it was not this. A huge house with a well manicured yard, light and the sounds of a big, happy family spilling out of it. For a second Dean ached for wanting to be in that house, be a part of that, but it had never been his speed really. Nope, the Winchester boys were destined for weird adventures on the road, never stopping, always roaming. That was them. Still, it would have been nice. 

"What're we waiting for, Dean?" Sam asked, breaking his thoughts and view of the house by standing in front of him. Dean shook his head. 

"Nothing. Come on." He set his shoulders and stomped up the little walkway, expertly laid down. It was smooth and flat and damn near perfect. A lot of love had gone into this house. When he knocked on the door and heard a ring of metal, he realized a lot of protection had been laid down over it, too. 

The door was quickly opened by what had to be the cutest little girl in the entire world. She was tiny with rosy cheeks, and a mop of golden curls over bright blue eyes. She looked liked the poster child for everything wholesome and perfect in the world. Then she opened her mouth. "MOM!" 

With that summons, which caused Sam and Dean to wince, an Amazon of a woman appeared. Tall, muscular, blonde and blue eyed, she looked like a Valkyrie come to life. Except she looked at the visitors with wary apprehension, which neither of them would have noticed if they hadn't been trained to look for it. She was a cool one, and a fierce one. 

"Ma'am," Dean started, hoping to get at least the right foot forward, "I'm Dean and this is my brother Sam. We're the Winchester boys. Told you'd be expecting us." At that she inclined her head slightly and stepped back. They entered and Dean got a good look around. It was like Better Homes and Gardens in that house. All warm lights and inviting places to sit. 

"Thank you," Sam said to her and she gave him a small smile. Sam always got the smiles from the motherly types. 

"I'll tell him you're here. Go ahead and make yourselves at home. Living room's through there, bathroom's down the hall. I'm sure you boys had a long drive. We'll get you some food," she said, and before Sam could protest that it wasn't necessary, she left. The boys looked at each other, shrugged and sat down in the living room. There was little to do but wait, empty the old bladder and refill the gas tank of the body. 

A boy this time came out and put some food down, a couple of sandwiches, a mountain of chips disguising some fresh carrots and apples, and some milk. The kid was huge, somewhere in between Dean and Sam in height and about as broad. And all at no older than seventeen. Sheesh, big family. 

"So which one of you is it?" the kid asked. 

"What?" Sam returned, half smiling because he didn't know what else to do. 

"Which one of you is taking up... taking over for Dad?" 

"That'd be me, I guess," Dean told him, and he saw the kid's expression go from impressed to completely entertained. 

"Oh, Mom's gonna hate that. She likes him," the kid said, pointing at Sam. 

"Mother's hate me on sight, kid, I don't take it personal anymore." 

"Heh, yeah. Well, its Dad you gotta talk to. I'm sure if you're here, you're the one for the... well, I'm sure it'll be fine." Then the kid walked out, seeming to know more than either of the Winchesters, and it was a feeling neither of them liked. 

"That was weird," Dean said, munching on his... abosolutely delicoius sandwich. Maybe winning over Mrs. Carptenter would be a worthwhile endeavor if she made food like this. Dean stuffed his face while Sam picked at his food. 

"I don't know if I like this, Dean. We get a lead, come here for a tool, and meet a family? I'm sorry, but this just doesn't seem right." Sam leaned forward, tense. 

"Hey, if the angels like, hell, respect this guy? I think he's alright." 

"Fine, but don't blame me for not trusting this angel." 

"Few people trust their first experience with a Messanger of the Lord, son," a somewhat slurred, yet very masculine voice said from the hallway. He was a large man, but there were signs of loosing muscle fast all over him, but his hair was still more brown than gray, and his short warrior's beard was neatly trimmed. He walked with help, his wife supporting him as he shuffled into the living room, where she helped him sit in a large, comfortable chair. She didn't leave, but sat in the chair right next to him, looking at them both with hard eyes, but her grip on her husband's hand was tight. Both Sam and Dean stood to shake his hand, and he nodded seeming satisfied. 

"Yeah well, when you grow up like we did, its hard to believe in God," Dean said, meaning to spit it out, but he couldn't bring himself to take out all that anger on a good, solid family man like this. Michael grinned. 

"You'll like Sanya, that's for sure," Michael said. "But we've got some more important things to take care of. Chairty, I could use your help." The woman nodded and helped bring forward a case. It was long, more than foor feet and rather narrow. They set it across Michael's knees, and his large, workman's hands settled down over the case lightly. "This is unusual. Normally someone like me doesn't get to meet their sucessor, but I think He thought it would ease my mind to know the sword is going to a good man." 

"The sword?" Dean asked incredulously, leaning forward, eyebrows rising up. 

"Ah, no one told you. They do that sometimes," Michael said with a certain amount of fondness in his voice. As though angels were odd cousins who didn't know quite how to behave but you loved them nonetheless. "This," he said opening the case. "Is Amoracchius." 

"The sword of love?" Sam sputtered. 

"Yes," Michael answered, an almost beatific expression on his face. "There are three swords, given to three warriors to fight against the evil in the world, to work to redeem souls lost to demons." 

"Is this how you guys normally work? Find someone, bring them back from the dead, stick a sword in their hand and point?" Dean challenged, but without the normal fire. He felt lost, out of his depth. "Cause that just ain't right." 

"It depends on the person, Dean. Some can have a lighter touch. Others require more direct means. But know this, you do not have to take up the sword. That is your choice. I can present it to you, but there is nothing that says you must take it. You are one of many who could wield it, but He seems to have favored you to have the first opportunity." 

"Doesn't sound like much of a favor," Dean grumbled. 

"Dean, come on, this could help us fight them, and you know it. Sorry about my brother," Sam apologized. "He's not used to the nicer side of the coin." 

"No one said he had to be, Sam," Michael admonished. "I'll leave you alone with the sword, son. And though you might not think yourself worthy, you are. It has been your love, your heart that sustained you when nothing else could. It is your love and compassion that drive you, Dean, and any fool could see that. Even me." Then Michael made to stand, Charity quickly helping him support himself. "Now, this old man has to get to sleep. Not what I used to be. Good night, boys. We'll put you up for the evening whatever you decide. Daniel will take care of you." 

Husband and wife shuffled out with narry a backwards glance, leaving Sam and Dean alone with the case, still closed. Dean leaned forward, undid the clasps and saw it. Five feet of gleaming steel with a nail worked into the hilt. He didn't need Bobby to figure out what that nail was. This was the real deal. Holy shit, was the first thing that crossed Dean's mind. Then he saw the cloak, made of the whitest cloth. New, made to his size. Oh, damn, was his second thought. His hand hovered over the hilt, and he looked back at Sam. Sam nodded, eager almost for Dean to pick it up. Dean ignored the look and thought upwards for the first time since he was four. 

You put us down here, unleash monsters on us, and you sit on your ass and do nothing, whatever Castiel says, you do nothing. Now, the way I see it, that ain't right. But now, if I take this sword, I can do the work you're too lazy to do. I can save people. People like Meg. Innocents. Victims. People you forget. 

As his hand closed about the hilt there was a flash of light and warmth flooded his body. Love, sure, safe love, like a mother's love. The love you can count on your whole life filled him. Tears formed in his eyes, but he blinked them away. Then the light dimmed and his hand was still on the sword.

"Okay, yeah, great light show, but you still don't impress me," Dean muttered, and he swore he heard an amused chuckle off to his left, but there was no one around but Sam. Creepy. 

"You alright, Dean?" Sam asked, learning forward, putting one hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Yeah, fine. Sleep would be good."

Sam nodded and the kid from before, Daniel, showed them to a small sewing room already set up for them. Before the kid shut the door after him, he spoke, "That'll make Dad happy, knowing its in good hands. Thanks." Then he left.

++++++++++++++++++++ 

The next morning Dean was uncermoniously woken up by Michael, turned out of bed and put through drills. Sword drills, invocation drills, running, training. Nothing he hadn't done before, really, with his father, but Michael wasn't as nearly as harsh about it. There were always food breaks, and he noted that Charity seemed to warm up to him as he ate her food with a gusto like few others.

Surrounded by the Carpenter family and with his brother, Dean figured maybe this wouldn't be such a bad deal, this Knight of God business. After all, a guy could get used to having people care about him.


End file.
